


Dean's Power Ballads For Cas, Vol. 1

by LeeLeeBee20



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, First Dates, Friendship/Love, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Nervous Dean Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, Post Confession Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeLeeBee20/pseuds/LeeLeeBee20
Summary: Dean has finally found the courage to face his long-buried feelings for Cas. And now that his angel is back from the Empty, Dean is ready to tell him the only way he knows how: through a mix tape of cheesy 80's power ballads.Featuring a nervous Dean, an angsty Cas, and a first date that may or may not turn into a total disaster.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Dean's Power Ballads For Cas, Vol. 1

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this story came from the reaction shot in 15x18 directly after Cas has been taken by the Empty, when Dean's eyes widen in surprise, as though he's had an epiphany. I interpreted that as him finally realizing he was in love with Cas after all these years, and wanted to give him a chance to explore those feelings instead of just driving aimlessly around Heaven for 40 years. 
> 
> This chapter is focused entirely on Dean's POV. The second one will feature Cas's POV, and following chapters will show their first date, including the songs on that mix tape.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I'm always looking to improve, so if you see something you like or something I could do better, please leave a comment.

Dean looked in the mirror and stared at his reflection with a critical eye. The boyish charm that had once worked magic on everyone from co-eds to cougars had long faded, replaced by creases in his forehead and lines in the corners of his eyes. He was still handsome, but only for a man of his age.

_Forty-one,_ he thought to himself in disbelief. _You’re forty friggin’ one._ He didn’t know where the time had gone.

Growing up, Dean had never thought he’d make it past thirty. Which, to be fair, he hadn’t. He had died at twenty-nine, not in the blaze of glory he had always envisioned, but as an act of love.

_‘Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.’_

Dean had traded his soul for his baby brother’s life. And he would have stayed dead, trapped in Hell for all eternity, if it hadn’t been for Cas. His angel had rescued him from the pit and rebuilt him, body and soul, piece by piece. At twenty-nine, he had been given a second chance and twelve extra years. Twelve, plus who knows how many more.

_And what have you done with it?_ he asked himself. _You’re forty-one, and you’re still stuck in the life Dad chose for you. You’re still scared to be yourself. You’re still alone._

_But you don’t have to be._

Cas had once told Dean that pulling him out of Hell, that knowing him, had changed the angel. Cas had only been half right. Knowing him had changed them both.

Dean finished buttoning his shirt and smoothed the placket flat against his chest. His reflection smiled back at him, wide with hope. Maybe his boyish charm was gone and his face was lined with years. Maybe his muscles weren’t quite as defined, his skin not as taut, his stomach softer. Maybe he had wasted years of his life being afraid of himself. Cas wouldn’t care.

_Because he loves you._

Cas, who knew him body and soul, and loved him anyway. He still had trouble believing it.

Dean looked at his reflection again, trying to determine if a tie was too much for tonight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten dressed up for a date. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he _had_ a date. Or a one night stand. Or even a quickie in the bathroom stall of some seedy dive bar somewhere in small town America. He still flirted with women, still appreciated a good pair of tits or a firm ass - or, better yet, a good pair of tits _and_ a firm ass - but that was as far as it had gone for awhile now. Years, really.

In the past, Dean had chalked up his change in behavior to logistics. The bunker wasn’t exactly centrally located, and while there was a local watering hole, Dean was never one to shit where he ate. He didn’t see the point of driving over an hour to one of the neighboring towns for a chance at a few minutes pleasure, not when he could spend that time at home, watching some old movie with Cas. His angel would complain, of course - billion year old curmudgeon that he was - but somehow they would still find themselves curled up on the couch, Cas on one side, him on the other, half shrouded by the dark as they watched together in companionable silence.

And when they were on the road, that was just the age kicking in. He had told himself he was older now, and the physical demands of the job were hitting him harder than they had back when he was young and spry. Easier to order in a pizza and a few beers, then kick back and relax in whatever dingy motel they wound up in this time around. Dean could rest against the headboard, shoes still on, and Cas would perch himself at the edge of his bed, nursing a beer while they ate. It was a comfortable routine. Happy, even. Dean’s life hadn’t had a lot of happy.

And when Dean did find himself in a bar, and some beautiful woman was looking at him with desire in her eyes and a hand on his thigh - well that one had been much harder to explain away. In the past, Dean wouldn't have thought twice about leading her outside for a private tour of Baby’s back seat, but in those last few years…

Dean hadn’t known why that last one had changed, but he never thought about it too hard. He had always been too afraid of the answer. Because the truth was, he had chosen Cas a long time ago. He just hadn’t realized it yet.

He could have been content never knowing. The life he had with Cas didn’t have everything he wanted, but what it did have was more than he deserved. It had been good. It had been enough. Then his angel had gone and laid it all out on the table before dying, and everything had changed. When Dean asked himself if he could ever love Cas the same way the angel loved him, he had been shocked to realize he already did. Maybe he always had. And now that Cas was back - and human - the life they had together wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted more. He wanted him.

_Him._

Dean could only imagine the fury John Winchester would reign down over that one word. He could still remember the look on his father’s face when, years ago, after a particularly gruesome case, John had walked into their motel room to find Dean and Lee Webb lying on the floor, three sheets to the wind, his son’s head resting in Lee’s lap.

It hadn’t been a sex thing. Dean wouldn’t - he couldn’t - have done anything like that. It had been comfort. Their job was to save people and hunt things, and this time they had only succeeded in the later. When the guilt of their failure had overwhelmed him, Lee hadn’t judged. Instead, he had taken Dean by the shoulders and guided him into his lap with a tenderness he didn’t know a red-blooded brawler like Lee could possess. Dean could still remember the feeling of peace that washed over him as he lay there, punch drunk and warm with tequila, as Lee ran his fingers through his hair and promised him he was still good.

Dean had been so lost in the moment that he hadn’t even heard the door open. He wondered how long his father had watched them; if he had seen Dean’s eyes flutter shut, if he had heard him sigh with contentment, if he had known that sigh had been borne from a moment of weakness in which he allowed himself to fantasize what it would feel like to tangle his arms around Lee’s neck and press a gentle kiss against the other man’s lips.

But of course he knew. John Winchester always knew.

They had never spoken of it. They didn’t need to. The look of cold detachment on his father’s face had said everything he needed to know. It would be the first and the last time Dean would ever allow himself to fantasize about another man like that. Until now. Until Cas. And this time, his fantasies went far beyond a gentle kiss.

Dean _wanted_ Cas. He wanted to know what he looked like - felt like - under that ridiculous baggy trench coat, wanted to suck on those full, pink, perpetually chapped lips until they were slick with his spit. He wanted to trail wet, hot kisses over dark stubble until his mouth was red and raw. He wanted to nuzzle against his neck long enough to leave a mark, so that anyone who saw them knew Cas belonged to him. But more than anything, he wanted Cas to want him back, to do something to him that no son of John Winchester should ever even think about, let alone ache for.

That was always there where the fantasies twisted back into shame. Dean had spent his life trying to be a real man, like John, and his father had made it clear that real men didn’t rest their heads in other men’s lap. They didn’t like the sensation that came from slipping a pair of women’s panties over their skin. And above all, they didn’t get off imagining how it would feel to have another man - a man they love - bury himself deep inside of them.

If Dean thought those things, it meant he couldn’t be like his father. And Dean didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t trying to be like John Winchester.

_But Cas does._

Cas had seen him - really, truly seen him. Not the man he was trying to be, not the blunt instrument his father had molded him into, just him. Dean Winchester. And Cas loved him in spite of it.

_No,_ Dean corrected himself, _he loves you_ **because** _of it._

_‘You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You are the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.’_

If Cas thought he was good, then it must be true. Dean may not know who he was if he wasn’t trying to be John Winchester, but he was ready to start finding out. After all, what did he have to be afraid of? John Winchester was dead, and Dean had literal angels on his side. Well, one ex-angel and one Nephilium-turned-God, but still, close enough.

At twenty-nine, an angel had granted Dean the miracle of gripping him tight and raising him from perdition. At forty-one, the child they had raised together had granted him an even greater miracle: he had given his angel back to him. And this time, he wasn’t going to waste it.

He looked at his reflection one last time and tugged the tie free from his neck. It looked good, but if things went the way he was hoping for tonight, a tie would only slow things down.

He glanced down at his watch. It was nearly six o’clock.

_Time to do this._

Dean gathered up his jacket, blue, with the faint outline of a handprint still on the left sleeve. Then he carefully slipped a cassette tape into the pocket and headed down the hall to Room 15, where his angel was waiting for him.


End file.
